"Yes, yes; mamma will be glad. You can smoke there also. And Ivan Ivanovich is with her." The mistress of the house, Sophia Vasilievna, was an invalid. For eight years she had reclined in laces and ribbons, amid velvet, gilding, ivory, bronzes and flowers. She never drove out, and received only her "friends," i. e., whoever, according to her view, in any way distinguished himself from the crowd. Nekhludoff was one of these friends, not only because he was considered a clever young man, but also because his mother was a close friend of the family and he was a desirable match for Missy. Her room was beyond the small and large drawing-rooms. In the large drawing-room Missy, who preceded Nekhludoff, suddenly stopped, and placing her hands on the back of a gilt chair, looked at him. Missy was very anxious to be married, and Nekhludoff was a desirable party. Besides, she liked him, and had become accustomed to the thought that he would belong to her, and not she to him, and, with the unconscious but persistent craftiness of heart-sick persons, she gained her end. She addressed him now with the intention of bringing forth an explanation. "I see that something has happened to you," she said. "What is the matter with you?" The meeting in the court came to his mind, and he frowned and blushed. "Yes, something has happened," he said, desiring to be truthful. "It was a strange, extraordinary and important event." "What was it? Can't you tell me?" "Not now. Don't press me for an answer. I have not had the time to think over the matter," he said, blushing still more. "And you will not tell me?" The muscles on her cheek quivered, and she pushed away the chair. "No, I cannot," he answered, feeling that answering her thus he answered himself--admitted to himself that something very important had really happened to him. "Well, then, come!" She shook her head as if desiring to drive away undesirable thoughts, and walked forward with a quicker step than usual. It seemed to him that she unnaturally compressed her lips in order to suppress her tears. It was painful to him to grieve her, but he knew that the slightest weakness would ruin him, i. e., bind him. And this he feared more than anything else to-day, so he silently followed her to the door of the Princess' apartments. CHAPTER XXVII. Princess Sophia Vasilievna had finished her meal of choice and nourishing dishes, which she always took alone, that no one might see her performing that unpoetical function. A cup of coffee stood on a small table near her couch, and she was smoking a cigarette. Princess Sophia Vasilievna was a lean and tall brunette, with long teeth and large black eyes, who desired to pass for a young woman. People were making unpleasant remarks about her relations with the doctor. Formerly Nekhludoff had paid no attention to them. But to-day, the sight of the doctor, with his oily, sleek head, which was parted in the middle, sitting near her couch, was repulsive to him.